


life ain't gonna pass you by.

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Levi/Eren if you squint. It's more like an eren thing. Yeah., M/M, This was meant to be for Eren's birthday but I'm a day late oops, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The sky had spattered with blood of the purest kind.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His sister had covered her eyes.</em>
</p><p> <em>And he had seen it all. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	life ain't gonna pass you by.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linkami1379](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linkami1379/gifts).



> I honest to god meant to have this up yesterday for Eren's birthday. I suck. Oops. I'm also not sure how I feel about this tbh. I kept it intentionally vague to a certain point at the end so people who've not read the manga don't get spoiled u feel

He had been young—perpetually browned fingers wrapping around the bright red fruit with light eyes that were unmarred. And his mother's appendages hadn't shaken then, when she placed the berries into the small woven basket made at her hand. 

Long, flowing strands of hair had fallen across her shoulders—whipping, snapping in the breeze. The smile she shared in that moment with her son, was one of reverence.

For she recognized the throes of beauty to be immersed in the violent path that mankind was forced to walk upon—to tread across and hope, pray to the walls, to make it far enough—in order to make an indentation in the earth of an unwilling path. 

In the outskirts of Shiganshina—as well as the heart and mind of a young boy turned man—Carla Jäger's minuscule footprint would remain as an engraving in the mussed soil.

The young boy's fingers had curled around his mother's hand, gripping it tightly—as though it were a lifeline. 

Looking back, he would suppose that it was. 

'Mom, can we go home and eat the stra' berries?' 

The voice was soft—quiet. So unlike him. 

Then it seemed natural.

_'Of course, Eren.'_

.

He grew to be strong and determined—a fire in his eyes that burned to an inferno with every course of action he'd take—even at an exceptionally young age.

Green, like late summer leaves, shining reflected in the sunlight, the many 'don't get your shoes muddy,' had been forgotten—fallen out of the young boy's mind, and discarded as if his mother's remarks had been wholly unimportant within the grand scheme of things. And for his sense of adventure—brown hair whipping in the wind as he looked across the expanse of land he called his home—perched atop the lone tree in the square, he supposed it had been. 

He felt free, and that was all he longed to be—realized it in that moment, that he needed to see the world—was entitled, had a birthright to the planet he'd been born on.

The young boy knew that he would make it so. 

_'I will.'_

. 

Death wasn't anything new—but watching light fade from another's eyes by his hand, due to his actions—was utterly unnerving. 

Yet in this moment, he couldn't stop—wouldn't stop. He needed to save—to protect.

He felt there should have been resistance as he pierced the skin—knew that there should have been as an individual took his final, gasping breath of air. From then, it was terribly easy. The second, whom he had barely registered to be in existence fell at his feet—glaring accusingly as the life purged itself from the body of a dead man. 

Next, he felt as though he may die—airways constricting, a tight, unrelenting grip wrapped around his throat. 

He'd lived a full nine years, he believed. 

But that girl—with the defeated eyes and broken disposition—she could change that short amount of time, into a prosperous one. 

_'Fight.'_

And so she did. 

.

She became a permanent fixture in his life—believed she owed him something - was like a sister, then—became a sister, with her long black hair flitting in the wind, contrasting with the pale hue of a blue sky. 

A young boy with eyes brighter than the dulled shade of turquoise made himself known to them. 

Blond strands of hair fell into his face as he introduced himself; the wind had been chilled, and the sky had been dark.

'M-my name, is Armin Arlert. It's nice to meet you.'

The boy with browned skin nodded—darkened fingers digging into the light fabric of his shirt. 

_'Thank you for helping me.'_

.

They were friends—companions through the time of mankind's inactivity. 

And through chaos. 

He recalled the day red hues had enveloped the sky, and death had been prevalent. The smell of burning flesh and decay that occurred too quickly to be solidified as reality filled his nostrils—head whipping around, hair the color of aged bark falling into his face as feet pounded against the dirt road—the path to his home.

In that moment, the young boy realized true horror—bright eyes widening to nearly impossible proportions. 

The sky had spattered with blood of the purest kind.

His sister had covered her eyes.

And he had seen it all. 

_'I'm sorry, I couldn't save her.'_

.

Their stomachs were an inconsequential void, filled to the brim with a lack of substance. They were cramped within Wall Rose—and soon, his best friend with the smart mouth and innocent disposition knew the pain of losing a family as well. 

The young boy thought on options—on how he could _finally make his mother proud of him and take back the world_ —and only one came to him in the face of defeat. 

The emblem of wings and the feel of soaring—ripping trough the air—called. 

_'I'll join the military. Don't try to stop me.'_

They didn't.

.

The 104th—they were great kids, amazing individuals—who had been forced into a situation where they'd been forced to grow up much too quickly. 

He recognized this life was cruel. 

_Just like me._ He knew.

.

He graduated 5th in the class—coming out of training with more than he could have bargained for as a young boy. 

—multiple friends, toned muscle, the drive to live, and a disposition in his preference to the male figure. 

_'I will survive.'_

.

He was beaten for his urge to protect—and hounded upon for possessing an ability beyond any that had been known before. 

He wanted—no needed it to stop—to cease the pounding brought by the rushing sound of blood within his ears. 

He had trusted them, and then they had failed. 

It was an aching sensation—bubbling up within him. 

He barely processed the loss of a woman he'd come to view as a second mother figure—until the next morning when light broke through the window, and he woke to find his Captain seated at the table, the telltale sign of darkened rings festering beneath the man's eyes.

Conversation had been brief. 

And an understanding had passed between them—nothing more, nothing less—as eyes that seemed to be made of dull slate came to life for a moment.

_'Don't waste your time on regret.'_

.

He aged through attempts at his life—kidnapping, pursuit, and the multiple questions brought forth—yet could never shake the feeling of guilt each time a friend, a companion, raced alongside him outside of the walls, not when he could see the fear on their faces as was evident in their hearts—as he felt it within his bones.

—could not find it within himself to be proud, any longer—as it had become taxing. 

A dark mark within him.

He prayed to something he was unsure he even believed in, that those lives lost, would not be in vain. 

And as a pale hand placed itself across his shoulder—long, thin fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt—he knew that they would not be.

A breath against his ear—warm, like summer—and fragrant of bitter tea. _'Happy 20th birthday, Eren.'_

_'I love you.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Idk.


End file.
